


As The World Caves In

by nowhere_dawn_death_phan



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Hermann has MS, Hermann is also sad about a lot of things, It’s sad but sweet, M/M, Newt is loud and annoying, Post Uprising, but can we blame him really?, chapter 2 is cuter I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhere_dawn_death_phan/pseuds/nowhere_dawn_death_phan
Summary: Hermann thinks he might prefer it when the world is ending, for reasons he doesn’t know how to explain.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note - This obviously will not reflect the experiences and feelings of everyone who has MS, nor is it meant to. This is the thoughts and opinions of one (fictional) person.

Hermann thinks he prefers it when the world is ending. Living kaiju attack to kaiju attack makes him feel a little more like everybody else. Now? Now the future is spread out before him, wide and infinite and far too short. It’s been three years since he realised the Precursors infected Newt, three years since his best friend almost ended the world, and two weeks since they finally figured out how to fix him.  
Hermann sits in what used to be his and Newton’s lab in the Hong Kong Shatterdome, back in the days of separate halves and forced altercations. It’s almost empty now, apart from leftover pieces of equipment and a black leather sofa worn soft by use. And this is where Hermann Gottlieb sits, white knuckles clutching his cane handle. Where Newton is, Hermann couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess, but he thinks he prefers that too.

They have saved the world. Again. He has - finally - saved Newt. And now suddenly that great cosmic helplessness washes over him once more, because what is Hermann Gottlieb if not cosmically helpless. Not that he particularly enjoyed the war, the overwork and the grinding pressure to make everything okay again, but he’d gotten used to the comfort of oblivion hanging over him like a cloud, of knowing every kaiju attack could be the beginning of the end for them all. And now it's over, the breach closed, the precursors gone, everyone has settled into the reality that the next breach won’t roll around for decades, assuming it ever does. That should be a comfort to Hermann, but it’s the opposite. Instead, the beginning of the end is the ache and spasm of his bad leg, the way it feels like lightning arching up his back if he moves too fast or twists too far. He is his own destruction, his body waging vicious war against itself, with him trapped uselessly in his own crosshairs, and he’s getting tired of it by now.

He knows, of course he knows, that he hasn’t helped himself in the slightest in the past few years. He knows his triggers, stress, overexertion, lack of sleep, poor diet, and he still runs himself ragged from pillar to post and back again, fetching and questioning and staring at a series of numbers until his vision blurs and he’s forced to sit for a moment. Now that Newt’s back he doesn’t need to anymore, there’s no pressure to solve anything or fix anybody, he has no assigned work, he’s just waiting for Newt to properly heal up and then they’re out of there. So he makes work for himself instead, throwing around theories about kaiju blue or breach predictions that mean nothing and never have and never will, writing an endless sprawl of numbers and symbols on snatched scraps of paper and trying to make something of them where he knows there isn't. 

Not right now though. No, right now he’s sat on a worn black leather sofa, leaning on his cane so tightly he’s worried it might bow and snap under his weight, meagre as it is. He’d only been standing for fifteen minutes. Not even walking, just standing, and now he’s forced to sit down, which he knows is entirely his own fault but that still doesn’t make it any better. He’s slowly but surely killing himself, and as terrifying as that is, the worst part is that he doesn’t seem to know how to stop. That’s why he prefers it when the world is ending. Because when the world is ending it doesn’t matter if Hermann shaves another month off his life by spending too long standing on a ladder trying to reach the top of his blackboard, it doesn’t matter if he condemns himself to six more weeks in a wheelchair than he would have needed had he not decided to forgo the twenty minute breaks of complete rest Newt used to try and insist he took every two and a half hours, because the threat of worldwide annihilation was infinitely more imminent than the threat of his creaky old body giving in two decades from then. The idea of the wheelchair had always bothered him more than the idea of dying, he doesn’t like the idea of Newt ascending and descending his ladders on his behalf, doesn’t trust him to copy down his numbers properly or in a handwriting that Hermann can understand. Not that that matters now there’s no use for his blackboards and his chalk. 

Hermann raises his head a little, studies the cane in his hand. It’s a trusty old thing, served him well since the day he first got it, but it won't be enough forever. It isn’t enough now. He’s been thinking about investing in a better one. More of a tripod, with a little fold out cloth seat so he can sit rather than lean. He’s been meaning to get it for months now, but he’d been so busy trying to save Newt that he’d pushed it off and pushed it off and now he knows that he can’t push anymore, else it’ll start to push back. He’ll get it, maybe tomorrow he tries to tell himself, but knows it’ll more likely be whenever he has the energy to get himself out into the city, though that might not be until weeks from now. It’s not like he can ask Newton to do it for him, not when he’s struggling enough as it is with everything that’s happened to him. Nor does he particularly want Newt to notice his deterioration. It’s practically a given that he will, he’s a scatterbrain but almost nothing about Hermann gets past him. Hermann doesn’t like the idea he’ll likely be in a wheelchair years before Newton has to even think about buying a walking stick when there’s only an age difference of seven months between them, but that is again partly his own fault. He’s nearing fifty now, he should have started taking it slower years ago, even if only by a little bit. He doesn’t know how big of a difference listening to his body would have made, but he knows it would have made one. After all, it’s not like he lies awake at night terrified to sleep in case he doesn’t wake up the next morning, he knows his downward slope will be slow and painful and humiliating, and that’s the worst part. Actually, he thinks, the worst part might be that Newton will be there to watch him sink further and further into his own messy-

“Herm!” Newt’s voice startles him, and Hermann’s cane clatters to the floor, his head shooting up. He curses under his breath, preparing himself to shift forwards and pick it up, but before he can it’s back in his hand, the sofa sinking as Newt sits down next to him. “Careful with that thing buddy, it’s almost as old as you are.”  
Hermann looks from the cane to Newt and nods once, stiffly. “Thank you, Newton.”  
“Ah, don’t mention it. Better than having you flounder like a fish out of water, you seemed pretty comfy where you were.”  
Hermann’s sure he’d seemed nothing of the sort, but appreciates Newt’s flippancy on the matter all the same.  
“So, I was thinking-” Newt starts, shuffling on the sofa as if continuing a prior conversation that Hermann is fairly confident doesn’t exist “-we go out tomorrow. Get some food that isn’t whatever they’ve still got in the canteen, just stroll through the city.”  
Hermann isn’t surprised that Newt’s first outing after being a prisoner of his own mind for over a decade is simply to wander, but the appeal is lost on him. Maybe thirteen years ago he’d have considered it, but walking simply for the sake of walking isn’t something he has the liberty of doing anymore.  
He doesn’t want to say that though, doesn’t want to ruin Newton’s high so soon, so he says maybe. If he has time, if he’s not busy.  
“Busy? Dude, did you miss the part three entire years ago where you closed the breach? There’s nothing for you to do anymore. This time next week we could be on the other side of the world if we wanted to be. Why are you even down here anyway, it’s not like there’s anything to do.”  
Hermann lifts his stick, pointing at the nearest workstation. “I’ve been thinking.”  
“Thinking?” Newt stands and looks at the mound of papers covered in hasty scribbles, shuffling through them. “Herm, you’ve done all of this in the last two weeks? This isn’t thinking, this is obsessing, half of these don’t even make sense!”  
Hermann doesn’t say anything, just looking from the piles of paper to Newton’s stunned expression and back.  
“I mean, what even is this?” Newt flaps a piece of paper at Hermann, who struggles to make out his own spidery lettering. Newt turns the page around, eyes scanning it. “Kaiju blue, possible jaeger fluid, combining attributes of monster and machine- Hermann, do you even know what you’ve written here?” 

Hermann scowls, the relief that Newt’s company had provided him now rapidly dissipating. He knows it isn’t Newt’s fault, he’s got ten years of built up hyperactivity flooding his brain and Hermann is slightly surprised he hasn’t started climbing the walls by now, though being the recipient of a tirade of sped-up English isn’t exactly enjoyable either. He’d rather go back to sulking over his looming fate in silence instead.  
“Hermann? Are you even listening, dude?”  
Hermann looks up at Newt, who is still flapping the piece of paper around as if he’s hoping to use it to take off. “Buddy, this is nonsense, all of it.”  
“Get rid of it then, Newton.” Hermann growls, and is surprised by how thick his voice sounds. It’s a few pieces of paper decorated with mindless scrawls, it’s nothing to mourn the loss of.  
Newt also seems stunned, stopping mid-flap to look at Hermann. “Oh. Uh. All of it?”  
Hermann nods. “You said it yourself, it’s nonsense.”  
Newt’s eyes widen. “No. No, I’m sure we can get something out of it if we go over it enough.”  
“Newton, I said get rid of it.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yes!” Hermann raps the tip of his cane against the floor and Newt nods, swiping a tattooed arm across the desk, scattering paper scraps like chaff. Now even if Hermann wanted them back he couldn’t have them, if he by some miracle did manage to get down onto his hands and knees to pick them up he’d never stand again.  
“What’s gotten into you, dude?” Newt asks, sitting back down next to him. “I asked the other guys where you were and they were acting like you were dead or something. You’re not mad at me for trying to end the world, are you? Because that wasn’t me, you know that right? Or are you still not over that time I stuck kaiju stickers on your cane because if so you gotta get over that already man, it’s been like sixteen years-“ 

Hermann instinctively curls his hand tighter around his cane handle, his frown deepening, and Newt looks across at him. Hermann glances away, flexing his fingers in a desperate attempt to look unbothered and direct the attention away from himself. After a moment, he gives in. “Fourteen years, actually.”  
He can’t tell the exact moment that the puzzle piece falls into place, the moment that Newt realises it’s been thirteen years since his last true conversation with Hermann, that they’ve let so much time slip past them. But he lets out a quiet “Oh,” as if he’s almost disappointed in time for passing when they weren’t together, as if the world shouldn’t turn if they aren’t together, as if nothing exists if they aren’t together.  
“How are you, Hermann?”  
He knows this question, knows the unspoken meaning behind it, knows that Newt doesn’t want to hear false pleasantries or half answers. He wants to know how long they have left.  
“I won’t be going into the city with you tomorrow,” is the only response that Hermann can bring himself to give, not an admission of defeat but an acknowledgement of fact, and Newt nods, putting an awkward arm around his shoulders.  
“We’ll get you a new cane,” is all that he says. “Or a scooter. And I’ll decorate it with kaiju stickers and we’ll attach little streamers to the handlebars. I’ll wire up a speaker so it plays Chopin-“  
Hermann cuts him off by whacking him in the ankle with the bottom of his stick. “That won’t be necessary, Newton, I assure you. A simple stool will suffice, I should think.”  
Newt laughs, and says he thinks Hermann would look quite good on a motorised scooter. He could give the jaeger pilots a run for their money, and maybe they could even pit him against a kaiju if the breach ever happens to open again.  
And Hermann thinks that, however long he’s got before he finally decides to give in, it’ll feel infinite enough with Newt by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely hadn’t intended for there to be a chapter 2 when I posted this but it happened. However I am fairly certain there won’t be a chapter 3.

The streets of Hong Kong are busy, busier than Newt has seen them in a while, and he struggles to keep hold of Hermann’s elbow in the jostle of foot traffic.  
Hermann adjusts his cane in his other hand, sticking tight to Newt’s side, grateful for his company in a way that he has far too much pride to ever actually admit. He’d started off refusing any help from him, but had barely gotten halfway down the second street away from the Shatterdome before realising he’d grossly overestimated his abilities. Having spent the last few years moving only from his rooms to his lab and back again with very little extra movement than completely necessary, he’s now realising that walking somewhere with an end goal of further than maybe half a mile with no ability to sit or even stop isn’t something he can really do anymore.  
And Newton, of course, isn’t helping. He’s trying to help, and Hermann can’t fault him for that, but he keeps forgetting that Hermann is thirteen years weaker now than he was before, as evidenced by the fact he’d practically raced out of the Shatterdome and halfway down the main road before realising Hermann hadn’t even made it down the entrance steps yet.  
Steps have, in recent months, become one of Hermann’s greatest foils, along with ascents, descents and flat terrain that stretches too far in any one direction. He’s taken to having to turn around at the top and walk down them backwards to reduce the chances of him falling, though the lack of any suitable handrail makes this exceedingly difficult as well.  
Newt had jogged back over, apologetic and flustered and trying to get Hermann to lean on him and in the end Hermann had snapped at him, frustrated and embarrassed and not at all in the mood to be coddled.  
Newt seemingly hadn’t let it bother him, as when Hermann asked for his arm only five minutes later he’d been more than happy to oblige. It’s somewhat difficult for the two of them to walk side by side, Newt having to shuffle awkwardly to match Hermann’s dragging steps, but he doesn’t complain about the scientist slowing him down, which Hermann is thankful for. To add to Hermann’s list of rookie errors for the day, he neglected to take his tablets before leaving, and his body has nothing but complaints for him as a result. Newton is supporting his better side, which means more room for error if something goes wrong, but Hermann is starting to come to terms with the fact that “better” doesn’t mean “okay”, which makes itself clear as Newt steps too far forwards and Hermann loses his balance, reaching across his body for Newt’s shoulder with his other hand but losing his cane in the process.  
He’s stuck for one mortifying moment, Newton’s hand gripping the front of his jumper and most of his weight on Newton’s shoulder, but Newt somehow manages to pick his cane back up without overbalancing them both further.  
“Dude, we really need to get you a strap for that or something.” He says once he’s made sure Hermann’s steady again. “I mean seriously, we’ll have to attach it to your wrist so you can’t lose it.”  
Hermann straightens his glasses on his nose. “And what about when I inevitably fall and impale myself on it?”  
“It’s a walking cane, buddy. It’s not a rapier. You’re not sword-fighting with it. Well, you might take a swing at an arsehole every now and then but that’s none of my business what you choose to do in your-”  
“Newton, may we continue walking?” Hermann asks, and his voice must sound more strained than he realises, because Newt shuts up immediately and falls back into an awkward step-shuffle beside him.

Half an hour later they both collapse into opposite sides of a booth at a diner Hermann has never even looked at twice but Newt swears up and down does the best pork knuckle this side of the Pacific. Hermann isn’t going to doubt that, he’s learned not to doubt Newt when it comes to food, but at the minute the idea of eating is possibly the most unappealing it’s ever been to him. He doesn’t even notice as Newt orders for them both, shifting his legs under the table and sighing. His weaker leg aches all the way to his hip and his other only to the knee, though his back is stiffening as well and he regrets not having the foresight to bring his medication with him, although he knows it’s getting to the point in the day where it wouldn’t make much of a difference now anyway.  
He looks up to find Newt watching him, something like pity in his eyes, and Hermann frowns back at him. He doesn’t like it, the way Newt’s started looking at him. He understands that it might be strange for him to get used to, that he’s struggling to process how the last thirteen years have changed him, but it’s not like it happened quickly. He’s had time to get used to it. It is his body afterall, he knows it better than anybody else. And nobody else in the Shatterdome had commented on it, because it happened so gradually they almost didn’t notice. Of course Newt’s going to look at him weirdly until he gets used to it. But Hermann doesn’t like the idea that he’s something to be pitied, that there’s something wrong with him. He doesn’t particularly like his condition, but it’s part of him, and he’s making his peace with that. He knows from first-hand experience that ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, so now he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation. He isn’t finding it easy, but he’s getting there. And Newton staring endlessly into his soul isn’t helping with that.

“I’m sorry-“ he’s saying around a plastic straw, though Hermann doesn’t know exactly what it is  
he’s sorry for “-I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here on foot, I should have chosen a day the buses were running.”  
Hermann reaches for his own drink, a glass of water he doesn’t even remember arriving, and refuses to meet Newt’s eyes. “The buses run every day, Newton.”  
There’s the sound of Newt swallowing, his glass clinking as he sets it back down. “They what now?”  
Hermann sighs. “The buses run every day. The timing isn’t always consistent but they run every day, and they have done for a while. I forgot that you wouldn’t necessarily know that.”  
“So why the hell didn’t we catch one?”  
“You wanted to walk.”  
Newt throws himself back in his chair, accidentally kicking Hermann in the ankle. “Jesus Christ, Herm. You don’t need to kill yourself for me! What the hell, man?”  
“You said to me that you wanted us to, and I quote, ‘just stroll through the city’.” Hermann mutters, taking another sip from his water. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but strolling isn’t typically done from inside a bus.”  
“No, but strolling is typically a leisurely and enjoyable activity, I practically had to carry you here!”  
Hermann feels himself bristle at the notion of having to be carried anywhere, and Newt must notice he’s crossed a line because he sighs gently. “You know I didn’t mean it, Herms. I do like walking, I just know you don’t.”  
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Hermann says, and Newt can tell by his tone that he’s still somewhat put out, “it’s just that I can’t do it anymore. If this were happening ten years ago, or even five, I would have gladly walked with you.”  
“We are walking, Hermann.” Newt says in a quiet sort of way that makes Hermann feel like he’s gone wrong somewhere, though he doesn’t know exactly where. “We are walking together and we are enjoying it, but you don’t need to force yourself. I don’t care. You’re still Hermann Gottlieb, I’m still Newton Geiszler. It doesn’t matter to me whether it takes us ten minutes or ten hours to get lunch, I just want to be able to do it. For the first time in a long time, the world is normal. I just want to enjoy it, that’s all. I don’t care about the rest of it, I just don’t like to see you in pain when you don’t need to be.” He reaches forwards for his drink, taking a sip and raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, that was a lot of words.”  
Hermann just looks away, adjusting his grip on his cane, a pointless gesture that exists merely to reduce his nerves. “Indeed. It is partly my own fault, I’m out of routine.”  
Newt leans forwards, elbows on the table, wrinkling his nose and pushing his glasses up his face with his thumb. “How so?”  
Hermann looks back at Newt, a little hesitant. “I changed my medication, not long after the war ended. Not long after you...left. I think it’s horrid stuff personally, but I suppose it did the trick. I used to only take it on quiet days though, because it knocked me around enough I’d sleep through most of the day. And then, with everything that happened with the Precursors, I couldn’t afford to lose concentration. So I stopped taking them, and it’s proving difficult to get back into the routine of taking them again. Though maybe that’s for the best, I’d doubt I’d have made it half this far had I taken them this morning.” 

Newt stands up, hands immediately going to his back pockets. “I should have something, if you need it? I’m still getting headaches and I know it’s not the same but if it at least takes the edge off then-”  
“Leave it, Newton.” Hermann waves a hand in Newt’s direction vaguely to indicate he sit back down, shaking his head. “What is it, after four in the afternoon by now? There’s almost no point. I appreciate the offer though, really.”  
“You’ve changed, dude.” Newt says as he sits back down, and Hermann turns his head, looking out the window at the street. Of course he’s changed, he wants to yell. Of course he has. Of course the world hasn’t remained static in Newt’s absence. Of course he had to move on without him. Thirteen years have changed him, and whether for the better or the worse he can’t quite tell yet.  
“You’re not as stiff.” Newt says, pointing his cup in Hermann’s direction. “That’s what it is. Emotionally stiff, I mean. Physically you’re like a wooden plank but....but you don’t grumble as much. You don’t speak the same. You’ve changed your tone.”  
Newt takes another sip from his cup. “I like it, dude. It’s nice. Don’t get me wrong, I liked old Hermann too, but I think I can get used to new Hermann. Does he still complain about Kaiju entrails on his side of the lab? Do I still have to call him Dr. Gottlieb? Will he take me to dinner if I ask him nicely enough?”  
“No. No. Yes.” Hermann says, shuffling a little in his booth.  
Newt’s eyes widen a little. “Really?”  
“One condition.” Hermann says, holding up a single finger.  
“Anything.” Newt looks so eager, like he’d do anything Hermann asks him to merely because it’s Hermann asking, and he debates briefly making some outlandish request just to see the look on Newt’s face, but instead he just pulls his cane closer and smiles.  
“Next time, we take the bus.”


End file.
